Chapter 2
Chapter two
Annalise
The day stretches long as we ride in silence in the back of the ancient white criminal transport van. The padding which once filled the seats, is so worn down that bits of remaining cushion now clump together like gravel under our butts.
Mile after mile, we travel across the open countryside, the trip only broken up by quick gas stops and stiff-legged bathroom breaks in the vilest of rest stops.
Case in point, the one we just stopped at had stalls with no doors, and rusted metal seats promising the need for a tetanus tincture if you dared to sit down.
There wasn’t even running water to wash my hands when I was done, so now I’m sitting in the backseat, scrunching my face because I refuse to scratch it after touching anything in that cesspool. Absolutely fucking perfect.
Overlooking the large town of Ravenwood, Scion Military Academy sits ahead of us like a crown atop the cliff it conquered.
It’s a massive, jagged black-stone castle with towers so tall they reach into the clouds.
Dense pine forests choke the edges of the cliff, standing guard around the Academy like silent sentries keeping the townspeople from ever getting too close.
Over the last eight weeks, Matt and I have been rotting in jail cells: starved, mocked, and paraded in front of my dad’s closest friends and co-workers, including Matt’s own father, for their entertainment.
Despite their treatment, my injuries have managed to mostly heal on their own, not that they would’ve wasted a spelled tonic on me if they hadn’t.
The judge in South Hollow sentenced Matt and me to ten years of service in the Thandroanian military…
unless we die in service to the kingdom’s war before then, of course.
The prosecutor, a good friend of my dad’s, claimed Matt and I had tried to steal money before my dad caught us, and we “viciously attacked him," in our attempt to flee.
I wish I could have been surprised when they were able to provide their clearly forged “hand-written plans” as proof, but South Hollow was built on nepotistic bullshit, and my dad is considered one of the good old boys.
Nothing we said, or our sloppy public defender who forgot our names as often as he forgot to zip his fly after bathroom breaks, did, was going to change that.
Several times throughout our trials, the judge even reminded us how “lucky” we were that my father was set to make a full recovery and was too heartbroken to request a harsher punishment.
As if the half inch I missed his heart by is a blessing, not the curse of having to live in a world he still breathes in.
Maybe that’s why being forced into the military and facing imminent death hours away from home actually sounded like a pretty decent outcome.
The war against Clowess began nearly two decades ago when families living in towns close to the border separating the two kingdoms started vanishing.
At first, it was dismissed as migration—whispers people had simply packed up and left to chase better opportunities.
But as the disappearances multiplied and entire bloodlines seemed to disintegrate overnight, optimism gave way to fear.
What began as suspicion and accusations between neighboring kingdoms instantly escalated when one night left no room to doubt.
On the night of the Summer Solstice, when almost everyone had gone to bed, a Thandroanian border town was razed under the veil of night. Streets were reduced to ash, the people to bone. By morning, not a single survivor could be found.
King Lucen’s declaration of war came a few hours later: “Clowess has declared war on our families, our safety, and our future. We will answer with fire.”
That same day, dragons flew, and soldiers marched.
But despite Clowess requiring the oldest child from every family to join their military ranks to ensure they have more soldiers, King Lucen has maintained a strictly volunteer military, insisting loyalty must be chosen, not forced…at least, that was true, until us.